


at his feet was a footloose man

by theghostofjamespotter



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Canon Compliant, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unrequited Love, if you squint there is a bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5677006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theghostofjamespotter/pseuds/theghostofjamespotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sharpy is close enough that Tyler can taste his breath. This is different.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You’re a good liney,” he tells Sharpy.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“So are you. I think you should hear that more often.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	at his feet was a footloose man

**Author's Note:**

> a lot of things contributed to this fic, but most it was the stars losing three games in a row and tyler being emo on twitter and liking [this tweet](https://twitter.com/ImThatGentleman/status/684604434333093888) after a game and then lindy splitting up the lines and then me deciding to hurt everyone's feelings with [this thread](https://twitter.com/bennboysbutts/status/685325539855462401) after sharpy and segs scored and jamie still didn't. and then [this post game with sharpy](https://twitter.com/JulieAnnDobbs/status/685350181315817472) kinda sealed the deal.
> 
> i didn't sign up to be this sad when i got into hockey.
> 
> massive props to mads and erica and su mei for reading over this and making sure i didn't post something terrible. [peace sign emoji]
> 
> if you got here by googling yourself, i am currently seeking out a sugar daddy, if you like what you read, hmu.

 

 

There’s something about Jamie after a loss. There’s this way that anger tenses through his body until the exact moment that a camera is on him and then all that’s left is debilitating disappointment that leaves the whole team with an empty ache. He’s untouchable, in an entirely different way than when they win.

When they lose three games in a row, he’s unrecognizable.

He does the same things as usual for the camera. He’s lucky that his big eyes and red face easily read as the sad cow that Tyler knows he’s referred to as by the fans. It takes him a long time to find words and most of the time he’s too busy sifting through his anger to come up with anything of substance. They say he has a slow media presence. Tyler knows better.

It’s not fair, Tyler thinks, to interview Jamie when he’s like this.

He puts so much on himself. Tyler knows that Jamie signed up for this, to be the voice of the team when things go bad and to shoulder their losses like a responsible captain, but he can’t help thinking that Jamie blames and blames and blames himself in excess.

So when Lindy dresses Tyler in a white jersey at practice while Jamie’s already there and dressed in green, Tyler keeps an eye on him, waiting for the reaction that never comes. Jamie stays focused, doesn’t let Tyler distract him. Jamie checks him against the boards and doesn’t say anything afterward and Tyler knows better than to take it personally.

He lets Jamie have his space, lets him remember what it’s like to play apart. It’s not the first time Lindy has split them up, but after so long, playing together has become second nature. Jamie is an extension of Tyler on the ice and maybe it’s petty, but part of Tyler hopes Jamie has a hard time figuring out how to play without his other body.

Tyler’s seen the stats. He knows this is easier on Jamie than it is on him, but still. He has petty hopes.

It’s not until after practice that he tries to say something.

“Hey there, All-Star.” He smiles, because that’s what they do with each other, because they’re supposed to be best friends. Jamie is hunched over, untying his skates, and Tyler brushes his glove over Jamie’s shoulder to get his attention. “Think Lindy’s gonna split us up in Nashville, too?”

It’s meant to be a joke, but Jamie’s face is unmoved.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says. He doesn’t even spare Tyler a glance when he looks up, his eyebrows raised at the bridge, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. “The All-Star Game isn’t about us, anyway.”

“Right. Of course,” Tyler says and tugs off the white jersey.

“Try to not miss me too much while you’re there!” Sharp calls out from his stall.

“Can’t believe they snubbed you, Sharpy,” Tyler chirps. “We’ll be lost without you.”

Sharpy throws a hand over his heart, feigns being touched by the statement. Grin plastered to his face, Tyler turns back to Jamie. He’s throwing his bag over his shoulder, already halfway out of the door.

 

*******

 

Going into media for the Jets game is different. There’s a lot of pretense, sloppy foreplay to act like they aren’t just there to ask Tyler and Jamie about their losses. They dance around the questions they really want to ask the captain, put together a fluff piece first, asking about the All-Star Game. Jamie says Tyler’s name once using his media voice and something inside Tyler cracks just a tiny bit.

Jamie isn’t as good at media as Tyler is. Tyler is all smiles, delivering lines about how excited he is for the changes to the All-Star Game this year and finally having Jamie by his side. He’d rather have Chara repeatedly run him into the boards than deal with the new three-on-three format, but he’s good at the spin, vaguely referencing “other changes” and general excitement.

He doesn’t feel like he’s lying when he says it’ll be nice to have Jamie there with him. He doesn’t want it to be a lie, at least.

Being around Jamie right now is hard and maybe Tyler has let it bleed onto the ice a little. That’s on him and he takes responsibility for it. Off-ice is different, and maybe that’s on Jamie, too.

It’s just. Jamie knows how Tyler feels about him now. There was a big confession, the holidays messing with his head until he couldn’t take it and had to finally say to Jamie, _yes, I’m in love with you and that scares the hell out of me_. Jamie didn’t say much of anything in response and that was fine, it’s not like Tyler expected him to run into his arms or have some kind of gay awakening just because Tyler admitted that he had feelings.

But now Jamie knows about them.

And so does Katie.

So maybe things are strained, but maybe being at the All-Star Game together won’t be totally bad, if they can work past all of that, if Jamie can quit moping around, if they can win some games together in the meantime.

That’s the approach Tyler takes with the reporters.

He doesn’t know what approach Jamie is taking, but after hearing Jamie say “Seggy” without an ounce of the affection that used to be there, he doesn’t really want to think about it.

 

*******

 

Practice lines get carried over for the game and it only stings a little to see Jamie talking strategy with Val and Spezza. He waits until Jamie is by himself for a moment to make his way over. He has to say something, can’t stand the separation between them. Not on game day. Not when they’ve lost three in a row.

“You’ve got a good line, captain,” he says, leaning against Jamie’s stall. “Of course, I practically raised Val, taught him everything he knows, but it’s fine, you can have him.”

Jamie smiles. Briefly, but it’s there. He chews on his bottom lip and it comes out swollen and red from between his teeth. “Maybe you’ll be better out there with Sharp,” he tells Tyler.

Tyler frowns. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Jamie nods and moves toward the huddle of defensemen, leaving Tyler without another word. Tyler watches him and he wants to say something, wants to follow him, wants this space between them to stop, but it doesn’t and Jamie keeps walking away. His eyes follow Jamie helplessly until they catch Sharp’s nearby.

Tyler makes his way over, plops down next to Sharpy, and drops his head onto Sharpy’s shoulder comfortably, watching him tape his stick. Patrick Sharp is one of those people that is nice to just look at. He could be doing anything and it’d hold your attention with the way his muscles move and his face shifts. When he tapes his stick, his tongue is between his teeth and Tyler cranes his neck to look up through his eyelashes at Sharpy’s mouth.

He finishes taping his stick, puts his tongue back where it belongs, and drops his arm behind Tyler, squeezes his shoulder.

“We got this, Segs,” his says, his face half buried in Tyler’s hair.

“We got this,” Tyler echoes.

 

*******

 

He’s got this.

Being on the ice with Sharpy, that something he’s used to. Finding Janmark is different, but ultimately not that difficult. No one comes to him as easily as Jamie and that’s just something he’s going to have to deal with. He can manage in this line, even if he has to look for the other guys more than he would like to, has to figure out what they’re doing on the ice without just knowing by instinct alone. He makes it work because he has to.

Eight minutes into the first, Sharp flips the puck to him from behind the net and he sinks it in, easy. Klinger’s got an arm on him, then Sharpy, and Janmark, and Goose and the first point of the game is on the board and it’s his, with Sharpy on the assist.

“That’s it, boys!” he says and it hits him immediately that he’s not usually the one to say those things. He breaks out of the group first, makes his way back to the bench, to his seat next to Jamie.

“You did it,” Jamie tells him and his voice falls flat. “You had a good assist.”

“First time you weren’t there,” Tyler says. He hits a nerve, Jamie’s jaw clenching and eyes out on the ice, anywhere that isn’t Tyler.

 _Good_ , Tyler thinks.

 

*******

 

When they go off ice at the second intermission and the score is still tied at one, something is up. Jamie and Lindy are talking the whole way out, heads down, and it shouldn’t make Tyler feel excluded, but that might be what he’s feeling, anyway.

Jamie finds him for a second, just before they leave the dressing room. “It’s gonna be me, you, and Sharp in the third.”

“Okay,” Tyler says dumbly and that’s enough for Jamie.

 

*******

 

They don’t score together. Having Jamie on the ice again is comfortable, but there’s a bite to it, a desperation Tyler’s not used to. They can’t quite connect and he can feel the frustration rise in Jamie from across the ice. He gets it, he wants this win as much as anybody, as much as Jamie, but he thinks that Jamie is to the point where he _needs_ it and that’s a dangerous spot to be in.

The game goes into overtime and Sharpy takes a penalty. By a miracle, they hold the line and it goes into a shootout.

Tyler scores. There’s a moment, afterward, where he dares to think that it might be okay, that maybe he had fixed everything, because he’s skating toward the bench and over everything else, he hears Jamie, screaming his name for the world to hear. His guard half out of his mouth, he’s fucking ecstatic, and pride that Tyler has only known from Jamie swells in his chest and bursts.

Sharpy scores and the air in the AAC is like static, anticipation building until Tyler can’t stand to watch.

Jamie misses his shot. He skates past Tyler, his face hardened, and the moment is lost.

They win anyway, the three loses in a row and Tyler’s scoring drought behind them and a new personal best for Sharpy’s scoring streak.

There’s now four games since Jamie’s last goal, but everyone knows better than to bring that up.

 

*******

 

Sharpy gets pulled for the post-game interview, which is expected with the whole point-streak going for him. Tyler sees Sharpy and Julie filming and it doesn’t quite register with him. There always seem to be cameras in the AAC, it’s hardly ever important.

What he does notice is that Sharpy’s hair is wild on his neck, sweaty and held down with a snapback. It curls when it’s long like it is now and Tyler doesn’t even think when he walks up behind Sharpy and slides his fingers into it. It’s slick with sweat and kind of gross, if he’s being honest. He scritches at Sharpy’s neck a little, lets his hand drag down his spine as he walks away. Sharpy turns to him and smiles, and there’s a soft fondness there that makes Tyler’s stomach warm.

Jamie is the last one left in the dressing room when Tyler gets there.

“Good game,” Tyler says cautiously.

“You played great,” Jamie says, more to the floor than to him.

“So did you.”

Jamie laughs and the self-deprecation is thick in his voice. “I missed my shot.”

“It didn’t matter.”

“Yeah, not to you.”

Tyler’s not sure what Jamie means by that, but he knows that Jamie’s wrong. Jamie matters to him, sometimes to the point where he forgets about himself, to the point where nothing else in his life matters at all. He loves Jamie and it’s no longer a secret that everything Jamie does matters to Tyler.

For Jamie to say otherwise is just unfair.

“This game wasn’t even about me.” Jamie keeps talking and it sounds more like he’s only talking for the sake of talking, that none of it is actually directed at Tyler. His words are harsh, full of resentment. “I wasn’t even the one being tested out there and I still managed to fuck it up.”

Tyler’s ears start ringing. “This game was a test?”

Jamie makes eye contact with Tyler, like he hadn’t realized they were still in the same room. His mouth falls open, wavering with a word on the tip of his tongue. He blinks. “Ty -”

“Do you _always_ have to fuck with interviews, Seggy?” Sharpy comes through the doors and wraps himself around Tyler’s shoulders. Tyler tears his eyes away from Jamie, swallows against the hard spot in his throat, and makes use of his media training.

“Couldn’t resist, man,” he says, swiping Sharpy’s hat from his head and mussing with his hair. “I saw those curls and went a little crazy.”

“That’s why I keep them covered,” he says, arms all over Tyler in an attempt to get his hat back. Tyler uses the tiniest bit of height advantage he has on Sharpy, makes him practically climb up Tyler to retrieve it. Sharpy falls for it, swinging around to Tyler’s front and pushing up on his shoulders and they’re face to face, dripping sweat onto each other, and Tyler’s breath catches in his throat.

Sharpy takes the millisecond of distraction and plucks his hat out of Tyler’s fingers. His eyes flit pointedly downward while he removes himself from Tyler. He pushes his hair back using the brim of the hat and smushes it onto his head, winking.

A door slams behind them.

Tyler looks toward Jamie’s stall reflexively. It’s empty.

“He had a rough night,” Sharpy says and it’s not a question.

“That obvious?”

Sharpy smiles. “Don’t let him get to you. You -” he says, punctuating the thought with a hand on Tyler’s chest, “- had a great night.”

Mimicking the hit, Tyler taps him with the back of his hand. “So did you. That was one hell of an assist.”

“Finally got you out of that scoring slump.”

Sharpy hasn’t backed away from him. Tyler can feel the heat coming off his skin, can feel the rise and fall of his chest in the inches between them.

Tyler’s always had issues with giving people their personal space. He regularly uses the other guys as furniture, draping across them on the bench, resting his head on whoever sits next to him on the plane. Accepting that, at some point, Tyler Seguin is probably going to use you as a chair or a foot rest or a warm body has sort of become just another part of being a Dallas Star.

Sharpy is close enough that Tyler can taste his breath. This is different.

“You’re a good liney,” he tells Sharpy.

“So are you. I think you should hear that more often.”

His mouth is salty when he kisses Tyler, one hand wrapped around his neck, the other tugging his hips forward. They’re both still game-sticky, sweat soaked through their shirts, but the kiss is soft, full of a positivity Tyler can’t explain. He kisses Sharpy back, twists his curls around his fingers absentmindedly. Sharpy tugs at the hem of Tyler’s shirt, trails his hand underneath it and over his naked abs.

Tyler breaks away first.

“Abby?” he asks through a minor brain fog, because he likes Abby and doesn’t want to screw things up with another wag.

“We have an arrangement,” Sharpy explains, offering no details on what that arrangement is, but making it clear that whatever they’re doing falls into the category of acceptable behavior.

Tyler has enough time to say, “Dude. Best wife ever,” before Sharpy’s mouth is on him again. He’s more insistent this time, kissing Tyler’s jaw, his neck, and it’s too much for the middle of the dressing room at the AAC.

“Can I take you home?” It comes out breathy and Sharpy hums into his neck. “It’s a little more private.”

“Yeah,” Sharpy says, his eyes bright and mischievous. “Let’s do that.”

 

*******

 

The drive to Tyler’s is quiet. He rolls down the windows, lets the cool January air run over them. Sharpy keeps a hand on Tyler’s thigh, not really moving, just tapping out a beat with the radio every so often or giving a gentle squeeze whenever Tyler passes him a glance. They’re both happy, he realizes, and whether it’s from the game or the kiss or both, he really doesn’t care. They’re happy, _he’s_ happy, and for the first time in awhile, that doesn’t make him feel guilty.

Marshall and Cash pounce on Sharpy before they’ve properly gotten through the door, curious about the potential intruder, but deciding quickly that even if he is there to rob the house, they like him.

“Don’t feel too special,” Tyler says while Cash is busy slobbering over Sharpy’s face, “They like everyone. My dogs are pretty easy.”

“They must’ve picked that up from you,” Sharpy chirps back, standing up straight and brushing dog hair off his pants.

“Are you complaining about me being easy?” Tyler cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Not a complaint.” Sharpy hooks onto Tyler’s belt loops. “Just an observation.”

Sharpy leans in to kiss him and Tyler lets a brief, chaste kiss fall onto his lips before he pulls away.

“Bedroom is upstairs,” he says against Sharpy’s mouth. “Unless you want a captive audience.”

Marshall and Cash sit at their feet, panting, and Sharpy laughs when he takes notice. “Bedroom it is,” he agrees, and gestures for Tyler to lead the way.

What Tyler learns about Sharpy in those few minutes between the entryway and the bedroom is that he’s handsy. He pinches behind Tyler’s hips, rakes his nails over Tyler’s back, fingers underneath his jeans, and Tyler is half hard by the time he closes the door behind them. He doesn’t stop, pulls Tyler’s shirt over his head and knuckles over his chest like he hasn’t seen it a hundred times before.

The intention is different, Tyler supposes. Maybe that’s reverence in Sharpy’s eyes, his hands tracing over Tyler like he can’t believe he’d ever get him in this context.

“Hold on,” he says when Sharpy’s hands find his belt.

“What do you need?” Sharpy asks him and he’s not sure how to answer.

“Um. I just need...to slow down?” he says sheepishly. The only thing separating his linemate’s hands from his dick is a few layers of flimsy fabric and it’s making Tyler’s head swim. Sharpy gives him a once over and a smile crawls over his face.

“Okay,” he says. His tangles his fingers into Tyler’s and leads him to the bed wordlessly.

They sit and Sharpy tips Tyler’s face toward his. They kiss without moving, without any urgency. Sharpy’s lips slide across Tyler’s like a conversation, a back and forth between equals and it’s exciting in a way Tyler has never known. When they fall back onto the mattress without breaking the kiss, it feels as easy as breathing.

It reminds him of his first time on the ice with Jamie, it comes that easily.

Tyler makes the next move, toying with the hem of Sharpy’s shirt until he pulls away just enough to let Tyler tug it off of him. Sharpy wastes no time in closing the space between them and he’s warm and big against Tyler and his mouth is soft and Tyler’s head buzzes with nervousness. Like he’s fourteen again, like he’s never done this before in his life.

“Ty.”

“Mhm?”

“Can you look at me?”

He opens his eyes to Sharpy grinning.

“Ty, I really want to fuck you.”

Tyler exhales and it comes out in a low hiss.

“Is that okay?”

He nods, mumbles something that probably isn’t a word, but hopefully reads as affirmative consent, because _yes, fuckin’ absolutely_ , he wants Sharpy inside of him, wants to feel it into next week, he wants all of it. Wants it so bad he can’t even say it aloud because saying what he wants only gets him into trouble, but thank god for Patrick Sharp, who knows what Tyler means when he doesn’t even use words.

He pushes Tyler onto his back and scoots himself off the bed to remove his pants.

Fucking hell, does Sharpy have some thighs. Naked like this, he’s like a marble statue, a goddamn Greek god in the flesh, all hard lines and definition.

Sharpy stands over Tyler, presses the fat of his palms into Tyler’s own thighs, massaging upward until he reaches his hips. He takes his time with Tyler’s belt, with unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down his legs. Tyler’s boxer briefs stay put, but Sharpy somehow manages to hook a finger on both of his socks and pull them off and Tyler’s dick twitches at how effortless Sharpy is with undressing him. There's an air of experience that Tyler isn’t used to, nothing like hooking up with Brownie during juniors or Sid’s fumbling hands on him at Worlds.

Straddling his knees, Sharpy bends down to mouth at Tyler’s cock through his underwear and the bit of blood that had left returns with an intense and immediate need for attention. Slowly, Sharpy pulls down his boxer briefs and exposes the head of his dick, dragging the cotton against his length until he’s free. Tyler whines and is answered with a kiss pressed to his hip.

Tyler’s toes go numb when Sharpy gets his mouth on him. It’s not a particularly mind-blowing blowjob. Sharpy’s movements are measured and even and it feels good, but it’s not meant to go anywhere. It’s nice to just relax into the motions, to let Sharpy make him feel good without trying to get him off.

But then Sharpy sucks off the tip of his dick and looks up at him with those big green eyes and _goddamn_ , does Tyler want to get off.

“Do you have lube?” Sharpy asks, his voice scratchy.

Tyler extends his arm out, fingertips brushing over his night stand.

“I got it.” Sharpy scoots up on the mattress, pausing to kiss Tyler on the mouth before retrieving lube and condoms from the top drawer of his night stand.

“You still sure?” he asks. Tyler nods and he shimmies back down the mattress, popping open the bottle of lube and coating his fingers. He flattens one hand over Tyler’s thigh, lines up the other with his hole.

He goes slow, pressing against the rim and releasing a few times before pushing past it, pulling out before going back in to the first knuckle, and pulling out one more time before pushing it in all the way.

“Breathe,” he tells Tyler and he exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “You’re okay.”

“’M okay,” Tyler repeats, making a conscious effort to breathe, in and out, keeping time with Sharpy’s movements. The room is quiet like that for a few minutes, just Tyler’s breathing and the slick sounds of Sharpy’s messy finger fucking in and out of him.

“Ready for another?”

“Fuck. Yes, _fuck_.”

The second finger isn’t as forgiving as the first, pressing against his rim and all the way past it in one go. There’s a dry drag until Sharpy twists his fingers inside Tyler, spreading the lube over both fingers. Tyler starts whining with want, with need, with something he can’t vocalize and Sharpy’s face is over his, shushing over his mouth, kissing him while he’s two fingers deep, and tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

“More?” he asks Sharpy because fuck, he can’t wait to have Sharpy inside of him, but Sharpy shakes his head no.

“Not yet, Ty.”

He works Tyler with more speed, more persistence, stretching his fingers inside of him and Tyler is practically shouting it feels so good.

“Christ, Tyler, fucking look at you.”

He can’t, can’t look at himself like this, broken down, his legs shaking, cock almost painfully swollen, spread out for Sharpy, but the praise makes heat lick up his neck and over his cheeks.

“You’re so good,” Sharpy says and he’s said those exact words to Tyler in at least three different contexts, but this might be the proudest Tyler’s ever felt hearing them.

He slips a third finger in and that’s when he starts really fucking into Tyler. He uses his wrist more than anything to push in and out of him and Tyler drops a string of obscenities that make Sharpy blush. He pulls out and Tyler lets out a guttural whine at the sudden emptiness.

Sharpy retrieves a condom, tears it open, and rolls it over himself, giving a couple tugs on his dick before he fits between Tyler’s legs. He lines his cock up to Tyler’s hole, but changes his mind, stops to grab a pillow from the headboard first.

“Lift your hips,” he instructs and Tyler does as he’s told. Sharpy slides the pillow underneath him and pushes down gently on Tyler’s hips once it’s in place. He finds his place again, fits the tip of his cock to Tyler’s entrance and with a deep breath, he pushes into him.

He’s big and he’s got to know he’s big because he doesn’t try to bottom out in one go. He uses shallow thrusts, just the tip of his cock widening Tyler’s hole until he can take another inch and another inch. It’s on the edge of overwhelming and Tyler still wants more, whimpers underneath Sharpy until he feels Sharpy’s hips come into contact with his ass and he lets out a cry of relief.

The first full thrust Sharpy takes is hesitant and if Tyler weren’t so desperate, he’d think it’s sweet how careful Sharpy is with him. Instead, he wraps his legs around Sharpy, digs his heels in and hopes the message carries.

That sparks something in Sharpy and he gets a hand on Tyler’s hips, bucks up into him with determination and Tyler goes blind for a half-second. Sharpy doesn’t stop and Tyler can feel tears leak down his face, pool in his ears.

“Can you come like this?” Sharpy asks, voice low and gravelly, never missing a beat with his thrusts. “Can you come without me touching you?”

A moan breaks in the back of Tyler’s throat. “I don’t - I’ve never -”

The thought dies in another cry as Sharpy hits his prostate and fuck, maybe he could come like this.

“You’re so good, Ty,” Sharpy murmurs, running a hand through Tyler’s hair, leaning down to kiss him. There’s a lack of coordination from before, their thoughts too preoccupied to facilitate a kiss that isn’t messy and careless. Tyler doesn’t care if Sharpy’s spit ends up all over his face as long as he keeps fucking him like there’s no tomorrow.

He wants to come from this, from Sharpy’s cock alone, but he can feel precome dripping onto his stomach and his erection is starting to hurt, it’s so full. His hands twitch at his sides, run over his abs, and he tries to not touch himself, but he only has so much willpower and with Sharpy inside of him, he has next to none.

“You want me to?” Sharpy asks and Tyler nearly gives himself whiplash nodding.

“Yes, yes, please,” he says and Sharpy fists over his cock, works him with his hand, matching rhythm while he fucks up into him. It’s starting to burn, having Sharpy inside of him, each drag of his cock a tiny bit painful, and Tyler bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from deafening Sharpy.

Tyler presses his hands flat against the mattress, tilts his hips and grinds himself back against Sharpy’s thrusts and that elicits a long moan.

“Fuck, I’m so close, _god_ , Ty.”

When Sharpy comes, he makes the smallest sound, a whimper that sounds like it might’ve been an attempt at Tyler’s name. He doesn’t stop jerking Tyler off, stays inside of him until Tyler peaks, splatters his chest in come, and even a moment after that, where he’s hovering above Tyler and they’re both trying to figure out how to breathe normally again, he’s still inside.

Tyler doesn’t want him to leave, but Tyler always wants things he can’t have.

Sharpy kisses him before he finally pulls out, the squick of the condom bringing them back down. The post sex haze fades and Tyler is all too aware of the implications of what just happened.

“So. You ever fuck your liney before?” Tyler jokes while Sharpy ties off the condom and tosses it into the trash bin.

Sharpy looks at him incredulously. “Did I seem inexperienced, Seggy?”

Tyler thinks over the care he put into prep and he giggles. “Okay, fair.”

Sharpy disappears into the bathroom for a minute and returns with a damp washcloth. He runs it over Tyler’s chest and when he’s sure there’s no come left on him, he presses his lips against Tyler’s pec.

“Was it weird for you, afterward?” Tyler asks and Sharpy stares at him. “With the others, I mean.”

“Nah. No one really gets to be out in this business, so...” he shrugs. “It just was what it was, you know?”

“Mm.”

Tyler can’t help himself from thinking about Jamie. He’s thought about fucking Jamie more times than he can count, but it never gets to the after. The cuddling up in bed, waking up to his bedhead, kissing him without wanting. He can still imagine riding Jamie’s dick until they both cry, but now he thinks of the after. He wants the after.

Sharpy interrupts his thoughts. “What about you? Ever fucked your liney?”

Tyler considers how to answer and settles on: “Not in Dallas. ‘Til you, anyway.”

“Not even Benn?”

“That fuckin’ obvious, eh?”

“I figured it’d already happened and I was getting in on some rebound sex.”

“Harsh, Sharpy, harsh.”

Sharpy reaches out for Tyler’s hand, laughs while he laces their fingers together. “You love him, though, right?” he asks, gentle with his curiosity.

Tyler swallows. This isn’t a conversation he’d planned on having when he brought Sharpy home, but all things considered, there’s probably no one better to have this conversation with, either. “Yeah.”

“Does he know?”

“Yeah.”

Sharpy thinks this over, brings Tyler’s hand to his lips and kisses each of his knuckles. “He loves you, too. It might not be the way you want it, but it’s there.”

“But it’s not the way I want it.” His voice sounds so small and far away.

“No,” Sharpy agrees. “It’s not. But sometimes you gotta take what you can get.”

What he gets with Jamie is a best friend, who maybe loves him in a way that doesn’t match how Tyler loves him back. He gets a partner on ice so effortless that it’s as if they’re one in the same. He gets a best friend, a person who completes him, who he can point to and say, “I didn’t know what home was until I found this.”

That’s what he gets and he’s going to take it. In the morning, he’ll call Jamie and they’ll work this out.

But right now, he can still get round two with Sharpy in the shower.

It might be selfish, but he’s gonna take that, too.

**Author's Note:**

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